


made of glass the way you see through me

by uneventfulhouses



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment RPF
Genre: Christmas Magic, M/M, Tiny bit of Angst, a whole lotta sweetness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 06:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28466919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uneventfulhouses/pseuds/uneventfulhouses
Summary: Will it always be like this?Ryan wonders, watching Shane lope up the snowy walkway and pushing his way through the front door, humming some jolly old tune in that way Shane’s prone to do. Theatrical, performing for an audience even though Ryan is the only one around.It must be because it’s all new. Somehow, he’s caught in the glow, the glimmer, the delicate fragility of what they’re building. Somehow, he’s alone with this guy, this one guy who looks like he’d sayscrewed the poochand would strike up small talk about cutting grass on a Sunday morning, whilst simultaneously boasting about his “eclectic” taste in music when it’s all indie bullshit sung by bands with names of various vehicle components.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 23
Kudos: 82
Collections: Skeptic Believer Book Club Secret Santa





	made of glass the way you see through me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deanwinchesterissaved](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanwinchesterissaved/gifts).



> merry belated christmas! this is for alex/deanwinchesterissaved. i hope i did your prompt justice, and i hope, hope, hope, you enjoy this. happy holidays, sweets! 
> 
> title is from ariana's 'pov', which isn't a christmas song, but ya know. 
> 
> thanks to jess for the beta.

✩

They’re still an hour away from the cottage; Shane’s asleep against the passenger side door and has been for quite a while. Ryan’s tired, and while driving in the snow has become easier now that he’s gotten a handle on it, the snow falling against the windshield and the crushing ice underneath the tires leaves him feeling unsettled. He can’t deny the beauty of the scenery, the way everything seems to glow, tinged yellow from the headlights of the rented SUV, while everything behind them is submerged in dark, inky black shadows.

They decided to spend Christmas together. It was Shane’s idea, finding a neat, warm-looking cottage up in Portland, tucked away in a forest. Even if Ryan thought the idea of a white Christmas would be nice, he’d been iffy about it, thinking maybe it was too soon to whisk each other away to a different state to be alone. Shane couldn’t go home for the holidays this year, and despite Ryan’s many invitations to come back to his parents’, Ryan relented and gave in to Shane’s wish. For some reason, Shane was looking to spend time with him, and Ryan wasn’t going to be bothered by it. It was, ultimately, the promise of being alone with Shane that decided for him.

Without much else to think about as he drives, Ryan falls into his mind; sits in the library of his memories and pulls down his favorite ones. The smaller, detailed memories created by intense bouts of anxiety that allowed him meticulous scrutiny of the moments that have passed between them. The quieter moments that don’t shine as bright as Shane laughs, but are just as important.

Like that beer Shane gave him after the Old City Jail shoot, where Ryan was sure he’d separated from his body, experiencing his life from outside of his mind, a ghost of himself peering through a window. That night, Shane sat on the edge of his bed and talked nonsense at him, absolute nuttery, nothing Ryan even remembers. The second he came back to himself, almost confused about what happened, he knew he didn’t have to ask because somehow, in the midst of Ryan losing himself, Shane took care of him and brought him back.

Or, more simply, two Novembers ago, when Ryan told Shane he would take him to the airport rather than have Shane pay for a Lyft, and they stuttered through a goodbye that haunted Ryan at the most peculiar moments.

Ryan’s life with Shane, the friendship they cultivated, wasn’t always what they portrayed through the lens of a camera. Yes, obviously, that was a large part of it, but there was so much more to it. Quieter moments, gentler moments, between raucous, uncontained laughter, between popcorn fights and heated disagreements over films, between their polar opposite taste in music, between different opinions on cuts of content.

It all peaked last Monday night, when Ryan invited Shane over to finally decorate his Christmas tree, and with the light shining on Shane’s face, Ryan couldn’t help himself when he asked for a kiss. Shane moved in close, the sharp inhale of his breath before the touch of his lips.

Ryan screams when a deer jumps in front of the car; the impact rattles him, right into the marrow of his bones, as he swerves off of the road; muted, he can hear Shane yelling beside him, before everything goes—

Quiet.

✩

When Ryan wakes up, he can hear murmuring beside him; dizziness sets in like a rush, but it fades as he focuses on his breathing, blinking his eyes open. Sitting up slowly, there’s an ache in his shoulder—the seat belt digs into his flesh, compacted tight against his body. The overhead light is on, illuminating the center console of the car. At least there isn’t any blood.

“Hey, _hey_ ,” Shane says gently, coaxingly. “Be careful.”

“I—fuck, _shit_ , are you okay?” Ryan says hurriedly, taking inventory of Shane’s body, his face, looking for damage. There isn’t any he can see, but it doesn’t lessen his worry by much.

“Yeah, I’m fine—probably just a bruised knee. Knocked yourself out on the steering wheel, I think.” Shane’s voice is calm, even. Ryan feels nausea threaten to overtake him, but he closes his eyes, forces himself to keep it at bay. It works; he can feel Shane reach out, his hand on his shoulder, rubbing smooth circles over his shoulder blade. It helps.

“We should call someone,” Ryan suggests, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand.

“I did. But the service is really bad with all the trees, and I couldn’t figure out where we are.”

Ryan tries to remember—he knows they were driving to Portland, but he doesn’t recall crossing over the state line. There are miles and miles California and Oregon; they could be anywhere.

“She asked me to describe my surroundings, and I told her _trees_. She had a good sense of humor. She laughed a little bit.”

“Shane—” Ryan sits all the way up, looking through the windshield, but even then, it was shattered, glass all over the dashboard. He could make out the crumpled hood of the SUV.

“Jesus,” Ryan whispers, shaky.

“How are you feeling?” Shane asks. “Hey, look at me.”

Ryan does, peering at Shane, finding the warmth of his down-turned eyes. “Like I’m hungover.” He cracks a smile. “Body’s sore.”

“Yeah. Click it or ticket really works,” Shane comments. Ryan huffs a laugh.

Quiet falls between them, and Ryan leans his head back against the headrest. After a while, the shivers settle in without the heat on in the car even through all the layers of clothes. Shane sits silently beside him, and Ryan clicks off his seat belt so he can stretch, maybe find a way to warm himself. His hands hit the headliner, and his joints crack loudly.

“Okay?” Shane looks at him, hands folded neatly on his lap.

“Yeah, just cold.” Ryan tries starting the car, but the engine won’t turn over, only clicks, like the battery is dead.

“Do you wanna get in the back, and, uh, sit together?” Shane asks gently, unsure, like it’s a crazy thought.

Ryan’s smile blooms slowly, understanding exactly what Shane is asking for. “Yes, I would like to _cuddle_ in the backseat.”

“Oh, yeah, alright,” Shane agrees sheepishly. Ryan reaches out and shoves at his shoulder, eliciting a small protest, but Shane grabs for his hand, holds it for a moment before tenderly bringing it up to his lips.

The small action warms Ryan more than a fire could have.

Shane gets out of the car, and Ryan watches as he rounds the front of the vehicle, reaching Ryan as Ryan opens his own door. There’s a horrendous scrape of metal as Ryan fights to push the door all the way open. Shane helps him out, hands on his waist; the cold air is an icy burst against his face, prickling like needle points. When he looks around, all he can see is pitch black, other than the overhead light that shines inside the car.

“You get in the back,” Shane says. “Grab the blanket we packed from the cargo area.”

Ryan does what he’s told, careful with his steps so he doesn’t slip in the ice. The nausea is gone, but there’s still an insistent throb at the very front of his forehead.

As soon as Ryan’s in, he scoots all the way to the other end of the backseat. Shane closes the front door and then climbs in the back, taking up so much space with his huge frame. Ryan busies himself unfolding the blanket, listening to the dry scrape of Shane’s hands as he rubs them together. He spreads the blanket over the both of them—thinner than he’d like it to be, but it wards off enough of the chill that permeates the car. Shane reaches between the front seats and turns the over headlights off, and then on the hazards. The blinking lights are the only glow in the dark.

“Come here,” Shane invites, leaning against the car door. “I don’t think I’m supposed to let you sleep if you have a concussion. But I couldn’t look up the symptoms, so I don’t know what else to do.”

“I’m too tired to stay awake,” Ryan protests. “And I don’t think I have a concussion. Just a headache.”

“You couldn’t remember—”

“I’m fine, Shane, cross my heart.” Ryan looks at him, and even in the dark, he can tell Shane’s concerned, can see the pinch of his brow. He sighs, relenting—for the moment, Ryan knows—and opens his arms.

Ryan falls into them.

Not the way he’d imagined spending the first night of their Christmas getaway together, and yet, when Ryan says, “Gimme a kiss,” Shane finds him, kisses him, and Ryan thinks it’ll do fine.

✩

They’re towed away in the morning. Snow has fallen thick, but the road has been cleared. State Patrol found the deer in the woods, not too far away from the shoulder where they’d pulled off. Shane’s walking with a slight limp considering the bruised knee, and Ryan’s headache persists, but all in all, they’re doing just fine.

The tow truck hauls them to the nearest body shop and Ryan takes care of checking in, signing all the necessary paperwork after he calls his insurance company and reports the claim. Afterwards, Enterprise comes and picks them up from the body shop; Ryan lets Shane handle this part because, “I’m not driving anymore.”

Shane pats him on the shoulder and lets him sit on the waiting bench.

When they’re given a new rental car, they have to _go back to the body shop_ and grab all of their stuff out of the SUV and transfer it over. It annoys Ryan; his stomach grumbles and groans, and Shane is—for the most part—in higher spirits than Ryan is, which means he isn’t susceptible to Ryan’s gritty, grumpy attitude. He all but shoves Ryan into the passenger seat of the car and tells him to put his seatbelt on.

A few minutes on the road and Ryan’s mood levels out into exhaustion, aching in every bone he has in his body. Even his teeth hurt from chattering. Shane throws the heater onto high and fixes the fans so they blow onto Ryan. It’s such a small action, and Shane doesn’t say anything while he does it, but it’s warming that Shane gives a shit at all.

Ryan studies Shane: he looks odd driving, one hand on the steering wheel and other tapping out a rhythm on the car door, a bassline to accompany the road noise and the steady airflow pouring from the vents. He looks _weird_ ; Ryan isn’t used to seeing it after years and years of driving Shane around, but he can’t help but be into it, attracted to it. He’s never _really_ considered men before Shane, but now that he’s going down this specific road, he takes the time to appreciate it.

Shane looks over at him for a moment, interrupting his thoughts, a touch too long to be casual. Ryan can already hear Shane saying—

“I should take you to the hospital. Or at least the clinic. The paramedic said there was one in town.”

Ryan groans. “I’m _fine_ , Shane. I’m not gonna die from a headache.”

Shane makes a dissatisfied noise. “But what if you do?”

“I’m not. I just need to sleep in a bed and eat something. I’ll be good as new,” he insists.

“No, I think I’m gonna take you to the hospital, actually.”

“Shane—” Ryan turns to look at him from where he's bundled up in the passenger seat, staring a hole through his face since Shane’s attention stays on the road. “—it’s gonna eat up more of our vacation, and last time I checked, hospital beds are not romantic.”

“They could be. Why don’t we find out?” Shane waggles his brows, and Ryan finds, adorably, that Shane’s ears move, too, when he does.

“ _No_ ,” Ryan presses, looking away, through the passenger side window. Everything is covered in snow, and it looks pleasant enough, if he looks beyond the very edges of the street, where dirty snow has been plowed into piles, filling the ditches. Not quite as glamorous as the movies.

“The hypochondriac Ryan _I_ know wouldn’t refuse a hospital visit,” Shane argues, matter of fact, poignant—

 _Annoying_.

“I’m fine, please. Can we drop it? It’s going to piss me off.” Ryan says, trying to keep his voice calm, even though the irritation is rising.

“Wow, okay, sue me for giving a shit,” Shane huffs. Ryan sighs, reaching over the center console, taking Shane’s hand in his own; he softens, clasping their fingers together. Shane’s fingers are stiff between the spaces of Ryan’s.

“I know—I know you care,” Ryan says, keeping his voice quiet, treading that new tone he finds he’s adopted talking to Shane since they kissed. “But really, it’s only a small headache. The paramedic said I was fine to go home. If I hadn’t been, they would have rushed me away, and we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

Shane’s frown deepens, but his fingers clasp Ryan’s hand tight. “Just know, if you drop dead, I will kill you.”

“I’m not going to. Besides, this is a perfect chance to introduce roleplay into the bedroom, _doctor,_ ” Ryan says, dropping the tone of his voice, upping the breathiness.

Shane laughs, chancing a glance at him, a wry grin curling the edges of his mouth like the Grinch. “That’s pretty ambitious for the first time we have sex.”

“ _Ambitious_? What kind of sex are you having that _roleplay_ is ambitious?”

Immediately, Shane’s body language changes; he shrugs, frowning, like he’d been caught giving Ryan the wrong answer. Not that Ryan gives a shit; he’s not been having the most exciting sex either.

He’s not been having any sex.

Shane says, “The regular kind, I guess. I didn’t know you were a sexual deviant.”

“I’m not a sexual deviant,” Ryan protests.

“But you’re into _medical roleplay_. Don’t tell me this is where you’re going to show me your dungeon.”

“Oh yes, my _special_ sex dungeon where I keep all my whips and chains. Are you excited, big boy?”

“Too early to tell.” Shane looks at him, eyes glittering. Maybe Shane’s into more than he lets on. Something wild that’ll make Ryan’s jaw drop. “And don’t distract me with sex. If I see you’re acting even a _little_ bit weird, I’m hauling your ass straight to the hospital.”

“Yes, _Daddy_ ,” Ryan murmurs, keeping his eyes on Shane, gauging his reaction.

It’s quiet for a heartbeat, and then Shane clears his throat; Ryan can see the way a flush creeps down the side of his neck, hidden underneath his scarf. “Oh, you _like_ that.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Nope, but your whole face did.” Ryan laughs. “If you’re into it, you can just say so.”

“Stop distracting me, I’m driving!” Shane huffs again, snatching his hand out of Ryan’s grasp, both hands on the wheel. 

Ryan smacks his thigh and his cackling echoes through the whole car.

✩

By lunchtime, they finally make it up to the cottage, hungry and aching and exhausted, but even then, Shane takes his hand when they get out of the car and they walk up the snowy pathway. They stopped for burgers and fries and milkshakes, something to tie them over until they can go into town later.

“It’s so pretty out here,” Ryan says, dreamy. All his Christmases have only been spent in California, with clear skies, a brisk chill in the air. Perfect sweater weather, but nothing like this, that makes him want to light a fire and drink hot chocolate, cuddling on the couch.

He realizes they can do that now, that he can move closely into Shane’s space and Shane will invite him even closer. It’s a revelation he still has to get used to, that aborted motions no longer have to exist. He can push himself as tall as the tips of his toes will allow and ask for a _kiss_. And Shane will kiss him.

The idea makes his fingers tingle where they’re wrapped around Shane’s, like they’ve trapped some precious energy between their palms, protecting it from the cold. Keeping it—and themselves—warm.

“It is, huh?” Shane agrees. He takes his hand from Ryan’s and punches in the code for the lockbox, so the key falls out into the palm of his other hand.

“Remind you of home?” Ryan queries, looking upwards, admiring the furrow of Shane’s brow as he concentrates on unlocking the door.

“A little,” Shane admits. “But it’s better this year than it’s been in a while.”

“All things considered,” Ryan says quietly.

“All things, yes. Don’t—” Shane turns to look at him, his face soft and open, in that way Ryan is still so unfamiliar with. “It was an accident. It’s still Christmastime and we’re—you know. Supposed to be—”

“Yeah,” Ryan says. “I know.”

Shane gives him a smile, and turns back to the door, unlocks it, and pushes it open. “After you.”

Ryan walks past him and inside is just like the photos looked: like Christmas threw up glitter and artificial snow all over the place. An arm comes around Ryan’s chest from over his shoulder, and Shane drops a kiss onto the top of his head.

“It’s cute,” Shane says.

“It looks like a department store,” Ryan says, but he can’t help but smile looking around, appreciating the large tree, fully decorated, standing next to the fireplace. On his right, there’s an open kitchen space; no dining table, but barstools at the counter. They can make that romantic for their shared dinners.

Straight ahead is the bedroom and the bathroom, one he knows has an enormous tub. When Shane had shown him the listing, Ryan noted the mention of jets. He’s betting they don’t make the night before Shane’s soaking in it, with or without him.

“Why don’t you go take a shower and lay down?” Shane suggests. “I’ll get our stuff and put everything away.”

“Alright, Prince Charming.”

With a pat on Ryan’s ass, Shane leaves him, calling out, “That makes _you_ the princess.”

Under his breath he mutters, “Damn right, dude.”

He strips out of his clothes on his way into the bathroom.

It’s minimalist and clean inside, a large jacuzzi tub underneath an enormous, frosted window, a glass shower right next to it. The floors are heated underneath his feet, and the room fills with steam when he sets the shower as hot as he can make it, pulling off the rest of his clothes and enjoying the pressure of the water against his back. It helps with the ache as the exhaustion sets in further.

He makes quick work of cleaning up, even though all he wants to do is stay underneath the spray, but he’s more tired and hungry than anything. He shuts off the water and wraps a towel around his waist.

In the kitchen space, Ryan finds Shane at the stove, peering down at his phone, and sidles up to him.

“Hey,” Shane says. “Feel better?”

Ryan hums. “I will once I eat, and you take a nap with me.”

“A nap?” Shane says, raising his eyebrows but not looking at Ryan.

“Yeah, maybe some kissing if you’re up for it.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Persuaded?”

“Some.”

“I’m naked in a towel asking you to sleep with me,” Ryan teases. “What more do you want?”

Shane laughs then, looking at Ryan with tired eyes and Ryan rubs his hand up and down Shane’s back. He’s still wearing his jacket.

“Nothing, Ry. This is good.”

They eat their food standing, leaning in towards each other and talking softly about nothing. It’s Ryan reaching up to kiss Shane’s cheek before pushing him into the bathroom for his own shower.

Ryan takes the time to get dressed in sleep pants and a t-shirt from his suitcase and plug in his near-dead phone to charge. He draws the curtains after staring at the snow for a handful of moments, so the room darkens.

The bed is cool, downy and soft when he climbs underneath the blankets.

He starfishes, closing his eyes, listening to the muted waterfall coming from the bathroom. Ryan’s always loved the city, but he can understand the reason people desire to come out into the middle of nowhere and find serenity and peace. If Ryan’s quiet, just lays there, all he has are his breaths and his thoughts, nothing else. Not screaming on the sidewalk, or dogs barking, or cars rushing by.

He’d never give up the city for this, but it’s lovely to enjoy while he’s here.

It was a good decision, this trip. He’s already feeling calmer, even as tired as he is, wishing Shane would hurry up and climb into bed with him, wrap his arms around his middle and kiss up the side of his neck. It’s a thought he’s entertained many times, alone in his bedroom—or in public, the chronic daydreamer he is—but there’s possibility and reality now. Shane will come out of the bathroom, and climb into this bed, and the very thing Ryan wants will happen.

He keeps thinking about how new everything is, how easy it’s been, how, maybe, had it been anyone else, he wouldn’t be in a rented cottage in the middle of Oregon with his best friend so they can figure each other out romantically.

And maybe sexually. That will be a thing, too, because that’s what adults do on a getaway. They fit their bodies together and find out if they match, enjoy the experience of touches and sensations that they wouldn’t have been able to discover with a looming city behind them.

It’s not that Ryan thinks they’re overly important people, but they are workaholics, no matter how they shape it, and for them to have left computers and work and _responsibility_ for a chance at _this_ already speaks volumes into how serious it could be for them.

Maybe Ryan’s thinking too far ahead, too much in permanence, already making his decision that things will work out before taking this whole goddamn car for a test drive.

But to be fair, the last handful of years have been nothing _but_ a test drive. Some weird courting, bad timing, and—and hard stops at yellow lights. There isn’t any more of that.

They’ve signed the lease and now it’s full speed.

Ten car pile-up, no survivors.

Even with all his thinking, it’s not much time he waits; Shane comes into the bedroom, towel around his waist, hair dripping over his shoulders. It’s been a few weeks since he’s cut it, and Ryan misses it, hates that he hasn't gotten the chance to get his hands in it.

Ryan averts his attention, gives Shane a little privacy to get dressed, and as soon as he feels the bed dip he shifts onto his back, lifting the covers to invite him under. Shane climbs on top of him and lays like dead weight, eliciting a soft laugh.

There isn’t a conversation, no preamble, only the light of Shane’s eyes for a moment, bright and amber, as the anticipation tingles all throughout Ryan’s body as Shane kisses him. Ryan hums, eyes fluttering closed and he falls into it, learning the way Shane kisses with a slow, deep intensity that clouds his mind with desire.

They haven’t done much, not yet, only kissing to the point right before everything feels reckless and desperate. And Ryan is tired, he’s exhausted, but Shane feels good on top of him, heavy and solid, pinning him down, keeping his attention with the hot touch of his tongue.

Ryan pushes his hands underneath Shane’s t-shirt, fingers scraping over the soft, heated skin of his back. Their kissing becomes hotter, deeper and Ryan’s affected by it, feeling the exhilaration, the thrill, the fulfilling sense of finally, when he rolls his hips underneath Shane, widening the space between his thighs so they’re pressed together. Shane moves against him, and Ryan can feel him, just as hard as he is.

Shane breaks the kiss. “Do you want to slow down?” he asks.

“Not really,” Ryan breathes, catching the sight of Shane’s eyes, pupils blown wide, as he rolls his hips again. He moves his hands, down Shane’s back, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Shane’s pants. “Okay?”

“Yeah, o’ course,” Shane murmurs, pulling his hips back so Ryan can push his pants down. Ryan does the same to himself, the both of them shuffling enough to be naked from the waist down. When Shane lowers his body on top of his own, Ryan moans, a soft noise that echoes in the bedroom, accompanied by Shane’s loud exhale.

There’s never been a moment where Ryan wished more than anything, he could hear Shane’s mind.

His hands bunch into Shane’s shirt, tightening his thighs around his hips, hooking his feet inside Shane’s knees.

“ _Harder_ ,” Ryan groans. He feels like, somehow, Shane’s undoing everything they’ve created between them in the handful of years they’ve known each other, rearranging everything, and putting it all together with the filthy cant of his hips. Shane’s mouth burns hot at the hollow of his ear, right behind the corner of his jaw as Ryan throws his head back, digging his nails into the back of Shane’s shoulder.

“That’s it,” Shane whispers, his voice awed, low and sticky like honey, dripping through Ryan, catching through his body as he feels himself creep closer to snapping like a rubber band.

Right before Ryan comes, he coaxes Shane to kiss him, both hands on Shane’s face. He feels it all swell, tighten, until he shatters like glass, gasping into Shane’s mouth, closing his eyes as his body rides the shocks of his orgasm. His thighs shake around Shane’s hips, knees drawn high, tucked into his ribs.

Shane’s right there with him, grinding out his release, coming onto Ryan’s belly hot and a messy, groaning Ryan’s name into his ear, low and gritted, like he’s clenching his teeth; like he’s holding back. Ryan pets his hair, still shivering, saying sweetly, “You feel so good.”

Shane exhales hard, hiding his face in Ryan’s neck, breath damp. He sags against Ryan, heavy, but Ryan’s barely existing, definitely not enough to push Shane off of him.

For some reason, Ryan finds himself laughing, soft wheezes that make Shane smile down at him, when Shane hovers over him.

“What’s got you all tickled?” Shane asks him, hair a mess from Ryan’s hands.

“Nothing. Just like you a lot I guess.” He touches Shane’s face with his palm, and Shane leans into it—he’s never seen Shane be so affectionate with a person, and maybe that’s how he is, private and intimate, where moments like these will only be shared with each other.

“ _What_? No way,” Shane says playfully.

Ryan grins, and Shane’s careful with the blankets, letting them fall back as he sits up and climbs out of bed. Ryan’s so tired he’s barely awake when Shane returns, cleaning him up with a damp cloth and careful motions. Ryan uses the rest of the strength he has left to lift his arms so Shane can pull off his shirt. The bed gives underneath Shane’s weight, and Ryan immediately rolls into him, attaching himself to Shane’s naked chest.

He’s asleep before he takes his next breath.

✩

When Ryan wakes up, Shane is still sleeping. They must have shifted during their rest; Shane’s sprawled over his chest and Ryan’s tucked in underneath him. Reaching over to the bedside, he unlocks his phone and checks the time: 5:43 PM.

His stomach growls.

Mentally, he prepares a checklist of the things they’ll need to get that they couldn’t bring with them on their trip. He figures when Shane wakes, they can make a quick trip into town.

For the moment, though, he just lays there, cuddling with Shane, letting sleep tug him every which way as his mind decides whether or not he wants to be awake yet.

His bladder decides for him.

“Hey,” he murmurs, nudging Shane awake. Shane grumbles against him, into his chest, and Ryan combs his fingers through his hair. “Let me go.” 

“No.” Shane tightens his hold, fingers bunching in Ryan’s shirt. 

“Yes, I have to pee. And then we need to go into town to get stuff to make dinner. And _then_ , you should make me dinner.”

Shane laughs, lifting his head to look at Ryan, peering only through one eye. His vision really has always been garbage. “We could order in some pizza.”

“And make some poor stranger drive in the snow when I can make you do it?”

“Oh, you’re gonna _make_ me, huh?” Shane asks, shifting onto Ryan’s body while Ryan bursts into light giggling, letting Shane pin him down when his hands come around Ryan’s wrists.

“ _Yeah_. It’s easy. I’m cute and you like me,” Ryan says, matter of fact, wrapping his legs around Shane and keeping him close.

“Ah, you’ve figured out my weakness,” Shane murmurs into the side of Ryan’s neck. “Don’t get kidnapped, though. I don’t like you enough to pay a ransom.”

Ryan laughs, freeing himself from Shane’s hold to touch his hands to Shane’s face and pull him in for a kiss.

✩

Shane drives them into town; it’s very small and quaint, but brightly lit and cheerily decorated for the holiday season. There’s a grocery store, a gas station, and a few shops that are still open for the day. The sun has set, so there isn’t much light cast, but the snow somehow sparkles still under the yellow glow of the streetlamps.

They head into the grocery store; Ryan steers a mini-sized cart behind Shane. They pick up the items they couldn’t pack with them before they’d left California, filling the cart with meat and dairy products, treats and snacks, popcorn, chips, wine, beer, bottled water in case the power goes out. Tea bags because Ryan can’t drink coffee anymore.

Right before they get to the checkout line, Ryan finds a table with gingerbread house building kits, and puts two in the cart, along with instant hot chocolate and mini marshmallows.

“This will be fun, huh? We can make a contest out of it,” Ryan says.

“Oh,” Shane says, delighted. “That _would_ be fun. We should also make a list of movies to watch.”

“We have our Top Five lists,” Ryan suggests. “We’ll need background noise when we bone on the couch.”

Shane laughs, a surprised little noise that’s like a direct injection of happiness into Ryan’s brain. Cracks him right open and makes the tingles go buck wild.

“Yeah,” Shane retorts, grinning. “Nothing like a handie during _It’s a Wonderful Life_.”

And now Ryan is laughing in the checkout line, reaching out for Shane to tug him close by the pocket of his jacket. “You’ve spoken it into existence, now it’s got to happen.”

“I feel like we should have vetoes. Everyone should have one, _no, honey, I’m not in the mood_ , especially during a black and white film.”

“It’d be during the boring part!”

Shane shakes his head. “To be fair, it’s not like we’re going to be watching _that_ many movies.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ryan asks, looking up at Shane though the fan of his lashes. Shane blinks, slowly, but more than anything, Ryan wishes he could see what Shane’s thinking about. It has to be something good with the way he licks his lips, opening his mouth and shutting it again.

“Sir, this is a grocery store,” Shane announces, and promptly moves to the front of the cart, dropping their items onto the conveyor belt. Ryan shakes his head, grinning to himself.

✩

It’s snowing hard when they get back on the road. Shane doesn’t seem bothered; he must be used to snowstorms like this, but it freaks Ryan out again, hypervigilant on the sides of the road, trying to catch a glimpse of a rogue deer waiting to jump in front of the car.

There’s something ominous about the way the clouds gather, dark and saturated, shrouding the moon, covering the stars.

“Hey, you okay?” Shane asks him, startling Ryan out of his shadowy reverie, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

“Yeah. Just nervous,” Ryan says quietly.

“It’s alright. It happens.”

“This reminds me of—”

“Willow creek?” Shane fills in, like he’s thinking about it, too. He remembers the ice, driving so slowly even though it didn’t make a difference; the car Ryan drove still drifted across the ice, unsettling. Ryan was so sure they’d flip over the cliff; Bigfoot was the least of their worries.

“Yeah. The mountains.”

“We made it out fine. Don’t worry so much.”

Ryan hums. “I’ll have you know, I’m always worried.”

“You’re right. What was I thinking?” Shane says with a smile.

Ryan shakes his head, but he’s smiling, too. Without incident, they make it all the way back to the cottage, pulling in their groceries.

 _Will it always be like this?_ Ryan wonders, watching Shane lope up the snowy walkway and pushing his way through the front door, humming some jolly old tune in that way Shane’s prone to do. Theatrical, performing for an audience even though Ryan is the only one around.

It must be because it’s all new. Somehow, he’s caught in the glow, the glimmer, the delicate fragility of what they’re building. Somehow, he’s alone with this guy, this one guy who looks like he’d say _screwed the pooch_ and would strike up small talk about cutting grass on a Sunday morning, whilst simultaneously boasting about his “eclectic” taste in music when it’s all indie bullshit sung by bands with names of various vehicle components.

Somehow, _somehow_ , it’s the guy that Ryan’s always found himself thinking about, after the last handful of years. It took him a while to be ready for such a thing, inopportune timing at one point, general anxiety and fear the rest, looking at Shane and being unable to read him until he could.

It’s wholly unfair that this tall, white, skeptic asshole has the ability to ruin an entire season for him if this goes sideways.

And yet, when Ryan walks inside and sets his share of the groceries on the kitchen counter, it’s hard to think it could go anywhere but up; Shane grabs him by the waist and spins him around, singing some made up song about macaroni and cheese and wine. And Ryan’s laughing, head tossed back, arms around Shane’s shoulders, enjoying the way he feels like his feet would never again touch the ground.

✩

For dinner, it’s rice and chicken, and Shane’s cooking. Ryan doesn’t care to do it, would rather not get mixed up in the mess and accidentally burn something, so he puts himself in charge of the wine, of the music and fireplace. Shane’s got a towel over his shoulder, a cozy sweater on, and he’s so handsome with a rosy flush in his face, a bruised stain on his lips, bright eyes looking at Ryan perched on top of the counter every so often.

It seems like they’ve been doing this for longer than they have, more than what a week’s time feels like, but time is always skewed when infatuation is at play—Ryan knows it’s more than that, the culmination of time as friends, their diminishing proximity, how they both seemed to be on the same page, ready to try something like this, something new and scary and exciting.

When Shane needs something from the cabinet behind Ryan’s head, it seems like second nature to grab it, and give Ryan a kiss before moving back to the counter on the opposite side of the stove. Shane seems to need more things from the cabinet than necessary, but Ryan is certainly not going to put a stop to it. If Shane feels the need to grab the sugar just to set it down on the counter and go back for cinnamon, Ryan is going to support him, kiss after kiss after kiss.

“I was thinking,” Shane starts, scraping a pile of chopped onions into a pan, “that maybe we could take a bath after dinner.”

“I knew we wouldn’t make it one night here before your weird bath kink showed up.” Ryan laughs, sipping from his glass. Shane scoffs.

“It’s not a kink. I don’t want to _fuck_ the tub.”

“ _That_ would be a fetish.”

Shane laughs, loud and abundant; the air smells like home cooked food, the fireplace is on, and Ryan can’t wait for all this to be one of his coziest memories, one with a grainy filter and soft gold light, where Shane stars, handsome and tall with crinkles by his eyes.

“It sounds nice,” Ryan concedes. “I brought some bath bombs.” 

“That’s the good shit right there.” Shane places a lid on the pan, and picks up his wine glass, stepping into Ryan’s space. Ryan makes room for him between his knees, a hand on Shane’s hip. “Your head feeling better?” He touches Ryan’s forehead, pushing his hair back, thumbing over a tender spot just below his hairline. Ryan refrains from wincing. “You’ve got a bit of bump.”

“I’m fine. It’s better now that I slept.” Ryan sets his wine glass down, prompting Shane to do the same. “They say orgasms can cure just about anything.”

Shane smiles, knowingly, sexy, in such a way that makes Ryan’s heart rate spike. “I bet a doctor would prescribe you with a few more.”

“Just a few?” Ryan balks.

“Slow your roll there, horny boy.”

Ryan sets his hands on Shane’s shoulders. “It’s a romantic Christmas getaway, and I want you to blow my mind. I’m not asking for the world here.”

A crackle of static explodes between them; Shane’s so suddenly quiet that Ryan thinks he’s said something wrong, but then, quietly, tentatively, Shane says, “If you were, I’d find a way, you know.” Shane doesn’t quite look at Ryan directly, so Ryan tips his head back slightly with gentle fingers underneath his chin. Shane’s eyes seem to glow bright, like he’s been charged by the electricity of his light confession.

“I do know,” Ryan assures.

Shane leans in, hands on Ryan’s thighs, and Ryan invites him close, so their noses brush and Shane’s mouth is a featherlight touch over his own. Ryan closes his eyes and kills the distance, fingers in Shane’s hair.

✩

Bath time is a tumultuous affair; they can’t get the jets to work.

“I’m cursed,” Shane mutters, leaning back against the counter, as Ryan kneels, fiddling with unlabeled buttons.

“You’re not cursed. Quit being a baby, it’s been like five seconds since we got in here.”

“Nope. This is like New Orleans all over again.”

Ryan giggles, shaking his head. “I’m gonna get it to work! Go get my phone so I can look up the directions.”

Shane leaves the bathroom, and Ryan repositions himself to sit on the lip of the tub, so his knees aren’t ruined by the tile. By the time Shane comes back, whatever combination of buttons Ryan’s pressed makes the tub whirr; the jets come to life and the water bubbles.

“Ah, you fuckin’ genius, babe,” Shane says, his voice surprised and delighted, and Ryan looks up at him, but doesn’t make a comment on his new name. Just hopes it sticks.

“Magic fingers,” Ryan says, wiggling his hands, and Shane laughs.

It takes them a few moments to get situated: Ryan drops the bath bomb into the tub. He watches as it fizzes blue and purple until Shane pulls him up standing, sets both hands on his face and kisses him sweet and soft for a breath before it turns dirty enough to get Ryan’s body this side of excited

They strip each other out of their clothes, until they’re naked. It’s the first time Ryan really gets to look and appreciate just how tall and long Shane really is without the blockiness of his clothes. He’s pale, smattered with freckles, carrying a whole third leg Ryan really only felt as they humped each other before going to sleep. He’s definitely curious about it, about how it’ll feel inside of him when they get to that part.

At some point in this trip, Ryan hopes.

“My eyes are up here,” Shane teases.

“Excuse you,” Ryan says. “I’m—who knew, huh?” he does look up then, watching Shane toss back the remaining wine in his glass. He’s fascinated by the way Shane’s throat works to swallow.

“I don’t even know what to say to you, honestly,” Shane says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Think I can fit the whole thing in my mouth?”

Shane raises both eyebrows real high. “I hope to god you can when—”

“Before bed, I’ll give it the ol’ college try. Never did get to experience much.”

Shane hums. “Shame. Something tells me you’re a natural.”

Ryan grins. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see. Get in.” 

It’s a little clumsy, but Shane manages to sit against one end, chest deep in the water. Ryan dims the lights, and they’re left in the soft glow of gold; he brings his wine glass with him, stepping into the water in front of Shane. It’s hot but it feels good, enough that it makes him sigh as he lowers himself. Once he’s sitting between Shane’s thighs, Shane’s arms come around his waist and pull him in tight. The movement makes the water slosh over the lip of the tub and onto the floor, a hazard if Ryan keeps drinking, and a problem for them to worry about in the morning.

“This is it, Ryan,” Shane sighs, wholly content. “The height of luxury. You, me, and this bad boy.”

Ryan laughs, leaning his head back against Shane’s shoulder. “This, huh?”

“Yeah. When you inevitably propose to me, after you inevitably fall in love with me, because, you know, I’m charming as hell, just remember I love a good hot tub.”

Ryan laughs, shaking his head. “You won’t let me forget it.”

Shane kisses Ryan’s neck, his shoulder, and Ryan closes his eyes, his fingers loose but stable around the bowl of his wine glass. “I always thought you were gonna be my almost. That years would go by, and I’d just think about you from time to time and wonder what it would have been like.”

“Your almost, huh?”

“Yeah. Just with work and starting Watcher, and—”

“Did you know when you invited me over?” Shane asks, the question mumbled into Ryan’s skin.

“No, but I hoped. I always hoped.”

“What made you say anything at all?”

Ryan smiles, remembering that night again. Shane wore a soft, powder blue sweater, pushed up the length of his forearms. His hair was cropped short, like he used to wear it back in college. He looked years younger, with glittery eyes from the wine Ryan poured them, lips pink, his face glowing with the soft yellow of the lights they hung on Ryan’s tree. Like a scene from a movie, everything seemed to sparkle, and Ryan couldn’t stop looking at Shane as he hung ornament after ornament. And Shane looked at him, and there it was, the moment, the few seconds of time that felt slow-coming, dripping like honey. The slow blink of Shane’s eyes, the furrow of his brow. The sharp slope of his nose. Shane smiled and Ryan knew that this was the moment, and if he didn’t take it, it would be lost to time, yet again.

So, he plucked the mistletoe from their bag of decorations and held it above his head, and said, “You have to kiss me. It’s the rules.”

“Wouldn’t want to go breaking rules,” Shane said with the sweetest smile, and Ryan wished time would pause, just to soak himself in the anticipation, in the excitement, the thrill that climbed up his back and blossomed underneath his shoulders and bloomed in his chest, warmth that made him feel, for just a second, like he was _invincible_.

Shane kissed him, the gentle pressure of his mouth on Ryan’s, arms around his waist. Ryan held onto Shane’s shoulders as tightly as he had that feeling.

“I don’t know,” Ryan murmurs, tilting his head back against Shane’s shoulder to look up at him, graze his lips along the scruffy line of his jaw. “Just thought I’d take another risk with you.”

“Think it worked out?” Shane asks, hand dipping below the water with a muted splash to rest against Ryan’s thigh.

“You tell me.”

✩

When Ryan wakes up, it’s to a nasty headache that blurs his vision something fierce. Shane isn’t in bed with him, and when he gets up, he finds Shane in the kitchen, shirtless and in sleep pants, if the blurry outline of him is anything to go by. It’s snowing when he looks out of the window at the front of the cabin. The Christmas trees glows, an amalgamation of colors next to the burning fireplace.

“Hey, good morning,” Shane greets him.

“Hey,” Ryan murmurs. “My head is killing me.”

Shane turns around fully, looking at him seriously. “Too much wine or—”

“I don’t know,” Ryan grumbles. “Can you make me some tea?”

“Yeah. Do you want to go back to bed?”

Ryan nods, and leaves the kitchen, settling back underneath the covers. Shane delivers a hot mug minutes later and sets a hand on his forehead. “You’re regular temperature. Maybe, uh—”

“I’ll be fine,” Ryan says quickly. “I’m just gonna go back to sleep. Will you lay with me for a while?” he feels—he doesn’t know how he feels, looking up at Shane standing at the side of the bed, wanting to have his body right next to his own. It’s not a foreign feeling, but the words feel clumsy in his mouth when he asks, and Shane looks hesitant to get in, and Ryan wonders, for a moment, if they’re forcing it, if maybe they work better as friends than whatever this development is. But Shane—and whatever warring goes on in his head—seems to relent, and he nods.

“Do you want anything else?”

Ryan shakes his head, and Shane climbs over him, underneath the blanket. He turns into Shane, latching onto the side of his body as he sets his head on Shane’s shoulder. Shane rubs his back soothingly as Ryan slings his arm around Shane’s waist, tucking his fingertips innocently underneath the waistband of Shane’s sleep pants, and closes his eyes.

✩

A couple hours later, Ryan wakes again, alone in bed, carefully tucked in. His head still aches and there’s the daunting feeling like this was all for naught; if Ryan can barely keep his eyes open and enjoy his time away with Shane, what is the trip worth?

He sucks it up. He’s going to be a baby about it, no doubt, but if he’s going to be in pain, he’d rather be lying on Shane.

He gets out of bed, pushing back the covers and there’s a chill in the air. In the living room, considerably warmer from the fire, Shane’s sitting on the couch, blanket over his lap, a book in his hands. Ryan sits next to him, leaning against Shane’s shoulder.

“Hey, you.”

“Give me attention,” Ryan says gently, kissing Shane’s shoulder through his shirt. Shane laughs, breathy and soft, but he puts his book down. 

“Did you sleep okay?”

“Yes,” he lies. “I feel a lot better.”

“Maybe we should just take you to the doctor, Ryan,” Shane says softly, eyeing him like he doesn’t believe him at all.

Ryan hums. “I’ll be fine. Come back to bed with me.”

“I’m not tired, though.”

“Who said anything about being tired?”

✩

Out of breath, Ryan kisses a trail up Shane’s sweaty stomach, his chest, falling on top of him.

“My throat isn’t ready for you yet,” Ryan says, his voice raw and hoarse, throat a little sore from trying to take Shane further than he’s used to taking _anything._

“You’ll get there. The little cocksucker that could,” Shane jokes and Ryan laughs, and even that comes out rough and throaty. “Did you like it?”

“Yeah.” Ryan hums, pressing his mouth into Shane’s neck, over the line of his jaw. He shifts his hips forward, grinding into Shane’s thigh. “Did you?”

“Did I, he asks,” Shane teases, turning into Ryan’s body so they’re pressed together. “You’ve got a mouth on you, Bergara.” He touches Ryan then, hand wrapped around the hard length of him, and Ryan keens, moaning soft and surprised. “It’s a wonder I haven’t kept you to this bed the whole time.” Shane’s voice dips low, hot when he breathes across Ryan’s shoulder, his chest.

“What’s stopping you, coward?”

Shane tightens his grip around Ryan’s cock and strokes him quicker. “You’d like that wouldn’t you?” he taunts. “Just underneath me the whole time while I take you apart. Slowly, make you beg.” Shane nips at the flesh of his neck and Ryan whines, fingernails digging into his waist, hips rocking into Shane’s grip. “You want it deep, don’t you? Hard. Real slow so you can feel it later—”

“ _Shane_ , oh my god,” Ryan gasps, feels the building pressure low in his belly; his thighs tremble when Shane thumbs the sensitive slit of his cock, stroking down to grasp at his scrotum with a gentle hand. Ryan fists his hand hard into Shane’s hair, pulling when Ryan feels him drag a knuckle down his perineum, a sweet, suggestive pressure against his asshole. He’s gasping, feeling the way his body threatens to give in and shatter. “Please,” he breathes.

“What, baby, what do you want?” Shane’s mouth is like fire against the line of his jaw, dragging his lips so Ryan can hear the scratch of his beard against Shane’s lips over his own hard breathing.

“You, I want you so bad.”

“’M right here,” he assures. “I’m right here.”

Ryan comes; it rushes up his spine, knocking against every bone in his body before it bursts like shattered glass and seeps through his bloodstream. He arches his back as Shane seduces it out of him. It feels like it goes on forever, moaning into Shane’s neck, clenching his eyes shut as he shivers his way through his climax.

Maybe it’s the reassurance. The confession, maybe that Shane can so easily tell Ryan that he wants this as much as Ryan does.

Ryan wraps both of his arms around Shane’s shoulders and keeps him close.

They don’t separate for a while, and Ryan forgot to be more considerate of the bedsheets.

✩

After lunch, Shane goes back to his book and Ryan pulls out a puzzle, pieces scattered all over the coffee table. The fire is on, wood burning, making the cottage smell cozy, like the fire pits he doesn’t quite get to enjoy as much as he would like. His head is still aching, but it’s manageable since he’s taken a couple aspirin. 

The outside pieces of the puzzle are assembled, and Ryan’s poking through his pile of pieces for the middle section when he hears Shane mumble.

“Did you say something?” Ryan asks, looking behind himself at Shane on the couch.

“No,” Shane says, shaking his head.

“Oh,” Ryan says, looking back towards the television

_Now he’s hearing things. We should probably start thinking about how to save this trip, maybe Ryan—_

“Are you talking to me?” Ryan asks again.

“No,” Shane says, more adamantly. “what’s wrong with you.”

“I feel like I keep hearing you say something,” Ryan says.

_It’s probably a concussion, and the symptoms didn’t look—_

“Shane!”

“What?”

“I don’t have a _concussion_ ,” Ryan says defensively.

“No one said anything about a concussion, Ryan—”

“You did! Concussion and symptoms. Seriously Shane cut it out.”

“I’m not doing anything!” Shane eyes him carefully. _Oh, no, he’s losing it._

“I am not losing—” Ryan’s mouth drops wide open, when he realizes he heard Shane talk, but his mouth hadn’t moved.

“Are you—is this your—what’s it called…ventriloquy!” Ryan snaps his fingers when he gets the word, and Shane blinks at him, leveling with a look of concern.

“Ryan, what are you talking about?”

“I keep hearing you say something, like right now, you said I was losing it, and your mouth didn’t move at all.”

“I’m not—“ _I could probably just pick him up and take him. He’s strong, but I’m bigger. Could pull a fireman, haul him over my shoulder and take him to the hospital._

“Fireman me, huh?”

“Ryan— _what?_ ” Shane looks at him with big eyes, bigger than Ryan’s ever seen them, and for the first time, Ryan sees the concern in his eyes. “ _Ryan_.”

“What! You keep saying ridiculous things! Stop fucking around,” Ryan says, turning back to his puzzle.

 _It’s impossible_ , Shane says, but it sounds like a scream. _Impossible!_

Ryan whips his head around. “What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“No you did—Shane,” he says carefully. “I don’t want to alarm you—”

“Nope. No. Absolutely not.”

“I think—”

“No. _No_.”

“It’s not like I’m controlling it!”

Shane stares at him, and there’s a moment of peace, of quiet, before Ryan hears it all. The panic. He’s never heard Shane’s voice like this, loud and abundant, tripping over his own thoughts, moving too fast in his head before—

Quiet.

“Oh my God.” Ryan moves closer to Shane, sitting back on his heels, a hand on Shane’s shoulder. “You have to think stuff at me. I’ll tell you exactly what—if—if I can hear it.”

_This is stupid._

Ryan repeats his thought.

_Hello, Clarice._

Ryan, again, repeats the thought, laughing.

_Ryan Bergara is a poopy head._

“Real mature,” Ryan says through full blown wheezes. Shane laughs, too, but once they quiet, his face grows pensive. Shane’s not thinking in words, not really, just a terrible alarm, like it’s letting him know there’s an intruder peeking through the curtains of his brain-windows.

“This is—not good, Ryan,” Shane insists. “I’m still toeing the line of coincidence. You know me too well to really—”

Ryan glares at him.

Shane hangs his head. “This isn’t going to end well,” he says. “This is—an invasion of privacy.”

“I—I—” Ryan frowns, rescinding his hand from Shane’s shoulder.

“I know.” Shane gets up from the couch. “I’m—I’m not mad, but I—just need to think. And I don’t want to do that here, where you can—where you can listen.”

“We don’t even know the radius of this, Shane. What if you could be anywhere in the whole world and I can still hear you?”

Shane shrugs and takes his phone and Ryan’s left alone in the cottage. He doesn’t know how far Shane goes, but his thoughts start to fade, like static on a radio station, until Ryan can’t hear him anymore.

It’s not a coincidence that his headache is gone.

✩

Ryan doesn’t know what to do with himself while Shane is gone. It’s too cold to go outside, so he doesn’t bother; he flickers through the kitchen and then the bathroom and the bedroom, finding himself in the living room. Restlessness steals his body, and he becomes fidgety, moving through the apps on his phone, flipping through Shane’s book, searching his suitcase for something and immediately forgetting what he’s looking for.

His puzzle remains on the coffee table as he retreats inside his head and thinks.

Shane is right. It’s not good.

Ryan’s only ever taken Shane at his word, and Shane’s word has always been good. But knowing his own fucked up head, his own intrusive thoughts, his own assholery, he wonders if catching Shane’s thoughts as they come, before he has time to refine them, before he has a moment to think before he speaks is going to lend to some tough things for Ryan to consider.

So far, there wasn’t much to sort through; all of Shane’s panic had been relatively unintelligible, which, for an intelligent, fairly eloquent man, it’s surprising. Not that Ryan would assume Shane has his shit together in his mind considering what he knows about Shane’s physical organization, but still, he figured he was better off than the clutter Shane is working with.

When he’d wished to see into Shane’s mind, he hadn’t meant it literally, especially not if it robs them of the time they carved away to be together. Ryan hadn’t thought that it would become this tumultuous to be with someone.

This trip was supposed to bridge that gap; he was supposed to learn Shane romantically, figure out how they worked with each other in the realms of intimacy. They’ve always been good friends, and Ryan thought, deep underneath the raucous anxiety, that if it didn’t work out, they’d be the kind of people that could remain friends.

Now—now, he isn’t so sure. He’s worried that Shane hasn’t admitted to him that he doesn’t really like him.

Which seems absurd; Shane’s never been the kind of guy to do something this elaborate, especially not at the expense of Ryan’s emotions, never mind the expense of his friendship, which carries their careers. But still, there’s an abhorrent, nagging feeling, like maybe, maybe, he just might find out that Shane really doesn’t like him that much. 

✩

When Shane comes back, Ryan is laying in the bed; he hears him before he even opens the door.

The concentration is suffocating; Shane’s mind is oddly empty, aside from what he can see, thinking of snow and home, but not in a wishing wistful way; a hazy reminder of what it’s like to be in this kind of weather.

Ryan wants to jump out of bed and greet him, but instead, he keeps in bed, paused on his Twitter feed, looking at the doorway and waiting. Shane’s mind bursts, fragmented thoughts that Ryan has a hard time grasping. Ryan closes his eyes and turns onto his side, dropping his phone onto the bed sheets.

Finally, after a few more harrowing moments, Shane appears in the doorway, jacket off wearing a long sleeved t shirt and jeans and leans against the door jamb.

 _Can you hear me_? Shane thinks, and Ryan frowns, nodding his head. Shane makes a disapproving noise and leaves the doorway.

On the couch, Shane’s thoughts quiet slowly, and Ryan realizes he’s fallen asleep.

Ryan keeps his focus there, the sweet humming, the gentle thrum of Shane’s mind in his own, and watches as Shane’s dream unfolds.

There’s a metaphor there, in Ryan and Shane running through a grass field, running and running, the ground shaking from the weight of something _big_.

Ryan never sees what it is; the scene darkens, leaves them running and running, and Ryan wonders what they’re running from. 

✩

When Shane wakes up, he’s not in a good mood. Ryan wants to fix it, but he doesn’t know how, and part of him is desperate to be cautious, worried that he’s going to step in the wrong place and go crashing through brittle ice. He doesn’t immediately go to Shane, not like he would have; he doesn't sidle up or sit next to or rush into his personal space. 

“You okay?” Ryan asks from the doorway. 

_Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think._

“Uh, do you want to get some food?” 

Ryan is met with silence, in Shane’s mind and verbally, and he sighs, stepping back into the bedroom. He leaves the door open, and even then, after a few moments, he hears the quiet murmur of Shane’s mind thinking about the town, and the front door closes a few moments later. 

Being in a small space already guaranteed being on top of each other. Although that had been welcome, it seems that this is much more difficult to navigate. Alongside his own hum of thoughts, Ryan can hear the steady stream of Shane’s, too. Narration of the book he’s reading, falling into tangential thoughts and his mind strays from concentration. Sometimes it’s a silly memory, or sometimes it’s something that makes Ryan want to call Shane an asshole, or sometimes it’s nothing Ryan can really decipher.

When Shane thinks about getting up and getting something to drink, Ryan does it for him. Shane leaves the glass where it sits and gets his own.

When Shane ponders what to make for dinner, Ryan’s there with a suggestion. Shane does not make what Ryan suggests.

When Shane thinks about what might be going on back home, Ryan tells him there’s always next year. Shane doesn’t answer him with a response at all, just hides himself in the shower, which is not much of a hiding spot since Ryan can still hear what he’s thinking.

_It’s not going to last._

It sets Ryan’s nerves on edge, hearing this, knowing that Shane’s just on the opposite side of the door and Ryan wants to walk in and ask him what he means, but immediately, he’s thinking of something else, scripts and work and nothing to do with Ryan in a romantic sense, trying not to think of Ryan at all.

Later that day, Shane gets a phone call, and silences it rather than answering. Miraculously, Shane didn’t immediately get up off the couch when Ryan gingerly sat down to continue his puzzle. He’s making progress, but Shane’s thoughts, like he’s forgotten, turn rancid.

_The last thing I want to do is talk to him. Why is he calling anyway? I should check on Mom._

“Who called?” Ryan asks, the words slipping out of his mouth before he means them to.

“No one,” Shane says, voice curt and brusque, brushing Ryan off with practiced ease. Ryan frowns, looking over his shoulder at Shane.

“Why are you worried about your mom? Did something happen?”

_Don’t think about it, don’t think about it._

“Don’t think about what? Shane, what’s going on?”

“Nothing! Nothing, just—get out of my head!” Shane throws his book on the couch and retreats to the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

 _Stop listening to me_ , Shane thinks, and it’s not like Ryan _means_ to, which upsets Ryan, because it’s _happening_. There isn’t some switch he has control over. He isn’t doing this just to spite Shane.

As far as miracles go, he’d give this one back in a heartbeat. He feels cold sitting on the floor of the living area, listening to the static of Shane’s mind like the scratch of a record player. It would be calming if he knew he was invited, but as it happens, he’s free to walk through the walls of Shane’s mind.

Oh, Ryan thinks. It very well may be that Ryan’s the ghost Shane’s never believed in. Floating through the walls of his grey matter, seeing things he shouldn’t, a presence unwanted. _Haunting_.

Ryan can sympathize with that; where Ryan can easily accept something like this can happen, it makes sense that Shane is resistant, that he wouldn’t _want_ something like this to happen to him when he’s been so skeptical of anything pushing the boundaries of reality—or at least, what they thought was reality. Instead, Shane’s burdened with this, unable to leave it, unless he _leaves_ , and that’s the last thing that Ryan wants. 

Now, they’ve confined themselves to different sides of the cottage, when all Ryan wants to do is climb into Shane’s chest and live in the curve of his ribs, swing through the vines of his muscle.

He finds Shane in the kitchen, the night before Christmas Eve, making something to eat. Shane’s thoughts toe the line of gifts, and—

“You got me a Laker’s mug?” Ryan blurts out excitedly, slapping a hand over his mouth when Shane’s head whips towards him, looking at him with narrowed eyes.

“Ryan!” he exclaims, but his voice is low, exasperated, well and truly done with Ryan’s newfound ability.

“I’m sorry,” he rushes to say, but Shane shakes his head.

“No. No, I don’t—I can’t do this,” he says, his movements sharp when he turns on the water faucet, vigorously washing his hands. Ryan leaps off the couch and rushes towards him, but Shane steps out of his reach.

“I’m sorry, Shane—it’s not that big of a deal—”

“Not that big of a deal? Ryan! Ryan, you can hear what I’m thinking the second I think it. You know everything I want to do, and I can’t even—even surprise you with something. Is that—I can’t—” Shane shakes his head, shoving his wet fingers through his hair, combing it back. The water keeps it, and he looks unforgivingly handsome even when he’s mad.

“I told you not to do gifts,” Ryan tries, voice soft and meek, and Shane stares at him.

“It’s not about the gift. It’s not about—you just _know_ things and _hear_ everything. I _can’t_ —” he drops his arms by his side and his posture wilts, resigned.

Ryan hears the thought before the words leave Shane’s mouth and Ryan’s heart pounds in his chest, painful in the way everything he’s wanted for so long is being forcibly ripped right from his hands. “Don’t say—”

“I don’t think this is going to work,” Shane says. “It’s not going to work. I can’t deal with you in my head. I don’t want you in my head.”

“We can figure it out! We can. We don’t live together, Shane. You’ll have time by yourself where I can’t hear you.”

“And when we’re together? It’s exhausting trying to think of the right things. It’s exhausting to have to make sure that I don’t think of anything that will upset you or ruin something or—it’s been two days and I’m tired, Ryan.”

Ryan steps forward, into Shane’s space anyway, touching his hand underneath his shirt, pressing his palm against Shane’s belly. “The whole point of this trip was to get closer,” Ryan says.

“Not this close,” Shane counters, but he doesn’t move away. “How would you feel if I was poking around your brain, knowing what you were thinking, answering you before you even say anything?”

“You can’t just decide to want out cause things got hard all of a sudden,” Ryan whispers. “That’s not fair to you or me.”

Shane takes Ryan’s hands in his own. “I share everything with you,” he says. “It was the one thing I had that was my own.”

“I was in there anyway,” Ryan breathes. “I would have never thought you would see me the way you do. I consider myself so lucky to be able to see myself from your point of view, taking your word for it, and hoping you meant it. It’s another thing entirely to see it. Somehow I get to.”

Shane ducks his head. “I’m sorry, Ryan. I—I love that for you, but it’s too much for me.”

“Shane, please, don’t do this.”

“I’ll see if there’s anything open tonight, and I’ll—keep my space.” Shane leans forward, taking Ryan’s face into his hands, and giving him a kiss, a touch so tender it’ll keep, a phantom for the rest of Ryan’s life. The bitterness of heartbreak that will linger on the pink of his lips.

“I don’t want you to go,” Ryan pleads. “It’s Christmas Eve, stay with me. I’ll—I’ll stuff my ears until I can’t hear you anymore. I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ll think of something. I just got you—I’m not going to let you go.”

“Why are you fighting so hard?” Shane huffs.

“Because you’re special to me. Because—because I could see every piece of shit, horrible, terrible, fucked up part of you, and it would be _nothing_ in comparison to how wonderful I think you are.” Ryan’s breath hitches. “Because there’s no one I’ve ever met that fits me like you do.”

Shane looks at him, really looks at him. His mind is quiet, only the echo of his heartbeat.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Ryan whispers. “Don’t you understand?”

Shane shakes his head. “I don’t think I ever will,” he decides.

“Try to. Risk it. Jump in the water, catch the train, whatever metaphor you give a shit about, please. Don’t fucking give up.”

“You can’t know any of that Ryan. You can’t know that you’ll take _everything._ People weren’t meant to be this—this _open_ , and _vulnerable_. What makes you think I’d be okay with you seeing me like this?

“I—I don’t know. I figured that—that we were—”

“You don’t know that this is going to work further than just Christmas together.”

Ryan sighs. “No. I don’t. but it’s worth trying. You want to try. Otherwise, you’d have left by now.”

“I just need space, Ry.” 

Shane walks past him, grabs his jacket, and leaves again.

Ryan balls his fists by his side and.

Screams.

✩

Ryan falls asleep alone that night, still waiting for Shane to come back. In the middle of the night, he wakes up and finds Shane lying on the couch, limbs too long to fit comfortably.

In his heart, Ryan knows this isn’t his fault. This new thing he can do—it wasn’t like he was really wishing for the ability to _read_ Shane’s _mind_. He knows it’s a happenstance of the universe, a trick, a test.

Couples always go through tests. But rather than nurse a romance over something like long distance communication, there’s this, full access to see what Shane’s thinking when he thinks it. 

It sucks, because if they can’t make this work, how will they make anything work? If they drive all the way home and Shane drops Ryan off at his apartment and tells him, _Just wasn’t in the cards_ , what does Ryan do then?

Most of Ryan’s life is wrapped up in the lanky son of a bitch; it doesn’t make sense that they wouldn’t work at all. They’ve made it this far. Far enough to be affectionate and reach out for each other and _touch_.

Ryan isn’t friends with any of his exes. Could he still be friends with Shane? Never mind the fact that he would be so stuffed with emotions that he might not be able to handle it, which is why he isn’t friends with his exes in the first place. He could try, he could do it if he was forced to it. A terrible corner to be stuck in, but he can make do. He doesn’t want to lose Shane at all.

Looking down at Shane’s sleeping face, lit by the Christmas tree, Ryan wants to wake him up and tell him so many things. Things that should be obvious, really. Things that Shane should already know. He’s spent five years with Shane, living in each other’s pockets, a string tied around their wrists to the point where if there’s one, then the other’s close behind.

“Make it make sense,” Ryan whispers, as he picks up the throw blanket from the back of the couch and makes sure Shane’s covered as much as he can be with it.

He grabs himself a glass of water and goes back to bed alone.

✩

The next morning, Ryan’s sitting in the bathtub alone, drinking another glass of wine. He’s left the door cracked open, an invitation of sorts for when Shane’s ready, although Ryan doesn’t know if there will be a time where he is ready for them, the two of them together. There’s a hum of music on in the background, something chill and smooth to help him drown out the sound of Shane thinking.

Shane’s been on the couch all morning reading his book, and the afternoon brought in a storm of clouds; Ryan can see the snowfall from the window above the bathtub, watching the flakes pile up and make a shiny, white void of the backyard.

_Expiration date. There’s always an expiration date._

And Ryan’s ready to get out of the bathtub and shake Shane by the shoulders and figure out what his problem is, because last Ryan checked, he doesn’t have any plans to leave Shane in whatever proverbial dust he’s preparing himself for.

Shane feels in colors, or at least that’s what Ryan thinks anyway. Washes of watercolors, the vibrances of acrylics, all in big bold strokes on a canvas, some tentative, sweeps of a brush. It’s really lovely, when Ryan can put away himself, his anxiety, and just listen. When there’s an open stream of consciousness that Shane’s forgotten he’s broadcasting.

Ryan wishes he was a better artist, so he can show Shane what he sees. He’s already so—he knows how he feels about Shane, how strong the emotion is, what it means, what it’s called. He’s known for a while. And to be able to want to reflect his mind back at him, to show Shane how beautiful his intricacies are, makes him try to push the edges of his own mind so Shane can see him, too.

It’s become less about Ryan thinking that Shane doesn’t want him. He can see that there’s nothing wrong with _that_. It’s how easily Shane thinks that _Ryan_ doesn’t want him.

It’s stupid, is what it is.

Ryan knows Shane’s walking towards the bathroom, sees it reflected in Shane’s thoughts as he walks forward, pushing the door open.

He stands there for a moment, leaning against the door jamb, and Ryan regards him, giving him a soft smile.

“You done throwing your tantrum now?” he asks, and he’s aware he sounds acidic, but he feels like he’s earned it to be a little abrasive.

“I came to explain? Maybe? If you’ll let me?” Shane says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Ryan waves his hand.

Shane moves forward, kneeling beside the bathtub. He drapes his arms across the lip, chin on his forearms.

Quiet falls between them, and Ryan leans back, closing his eyes. He sees himself through Shane’s eyes anyway, always accompanied by light and vibrance, like a filtered image on Instagram.

“I thought about going home,” Shane murmurs. “But it wouldn’t have made a difference.”

Ryan hums. “Why?”

“Because—because Christmas back home hasn’t felt like Christmas in years. My parents—they’re—they don’t live together anymore. They’re still technically married, but they’re separated, and I don’t understand. And I see parents like yours and I think that yes, that’s what two people who love each other look like. Kind and warm and caring. It’s not that my parents don’t care, but I know—I remember my mom telling me, over the years, several times, that being married meant taking each other at their best and their _worst_. But you know. Sometimes people have _worsts_ that are so detrimental, marriage can’t forgive it. And my mom always did say, _you’re just like your dad, Shane Alexander._

“And if I’m like my dad,” Shane breathes, “then that means I have a worst _so foul,_ it’ll drive the person I love away from me. And imagine, being so incredibly, ridiculously, head over heels in love with someone, and wanting them so much, _so much_ , and they tell you that they’ll take your everything, and one day, there’s _one thing_ that drives them away?”

Shane sighs, closing his eyes. 

“I don’t want to look at you and think there’s one day where you’re going to look at me, Ryan—that you’ll look at me and not see how much I care about you. How much I—I feel for you. It scares the hell out of me.”

Ryan sits up in the tub and leans forward, leaning his forehead on Shane’s forearm. He peers up at Shane, blinking at him and Shane looks back, so sad. “Not everyone goes away. I’ve spent so much time detailing how I view the relationships I cultivate with people; that doesn’t exclude you, Shane. That’s never excluded you.”

“I know but—”

“Clearly you don’t,” Ryan interrupts. “It’s something you’re going to have to learn. You’re going to have to trust and give chances. It’s never going to be like the movies. We’re going to have days like this, where we’re not going to see eye to eye—”

“We don’t see eye to eye now, little guy,” Shane says with a small smile, an olive branch if Ryan’s ever seen one.

“Son of a bitch,” he huffs, but he’s grinning, too. “What I’m trying to say is, I took a risk trying to get us here. To this point. And now it’s your turn to take your own risks. I’m worth it, right? I’m worth the risk?”

“Of course you are,” Shane huffs, insulted Ryan could ever question such a thing.

“Then you gotta show me that, too. I don’t know your dad, because I get the feeling that he doesn’t want to know _me_. And that doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t. Because I know you. And _I_ think you’re really cool.”

Shane laughs. “You think I’m cool?”

“No, not at all, but I made you smile, and if you want, if you’ll let me, I want to spend a really long time doing that.”

Shane shakes his head. “ _Ryan_.”

“What? I like you Shane. I don’t know where you got it twisted that seeing you for the last five years was going to change anything about that. We’ve been ride or die for a while. That applies to this. We don’t get a new set of rules because we’ve introduced blow jobs to the playing field.”

“Alright, alright,” Shane relents. “I get it.”

“Do you? I want to be sure, because in two days, we’re going to leave, and I want to make sure that when we get home, back to LA, and all the Christmas magic wears off you still understand what I’m telling you.”

“How are you so sure?” Shane murmurs. “How do you know?”

“Because when I want something, I do my damndest to have it. And I want you, big guy.”

“You know what?” Shane starts, reaching out to touch Ryan’s face, a careful hand curved over the line of his jaw. “It’s easier now.”

All Ryan can see in Shane’s mind, as Shane looks at him, is the image of a modest house. It isn’t one he recognizes or knows, and Ryan doesn’t mean to intrude again, so he clenches his eyes shut, like it might rescind his access, but Shane touches his face and Ryan opens his eyes and catches sight of Shane’s luminescent irises.

“I want you to see,” Shane says.

It’s an imagined scene in Shane’s mind. Clumsy and hazier than the jolt of an old memory. No, this is painted with big, broad brush strokes, the wistful strikes of paint, light and easy. Temporary and erasable if one wrong move catches him off guard. But Ryan sees himself in this house, in clothes that look suspiciously like some of Shane’s own.

Shane’s always wanted a house. It’s something Ryan’s found endearing, that Shane wants to find a plot of land to dig his heels into.

“What is this?” Ryan asks, suddenly breathless.

“My idea of home,” Shane says quietly, but so, _so_ certain. “When I think about it, this is what I see. Something you were never meant to see, but nothing about us has ever been normal. Seems silly to beg for such a thing now.”

“Jesus Christ, Shane.”

Shane laughs, and in the low light of the bathroom, Ryan can see the flush that stretches up Shane’s cheeks, flourishing over the bridge of his nose.

“Come sit in here with me,” Ryan beckons. “I want to be close to you.”

Shane’s knees crack when he stands up, but Ryan finishes his wine and sets his glass down on the windowsill, watching as Shane takes his clothes off.

Shane sits between Ryan’s legs; water goes over the lip of the tub when Shane lowers himself into the water, but he reclines back against Ryan’s chest, knees peeking out of the surface of the water. Ryan wraps his arms around Shane’s chest, holding him tight. He pushes at the edges of his mind, he uses all the strength he can find to open up the barrier, but it won’t budge, like a sticky window. He settles for this, the smell of Shane’s neck, the way Shane’s come to hold his own like he refuses to let Ryan go, like it wasn’t Shane attempting to leave.

And it’s like Shane’s stopped thinking in words; an incandescent oil slick of vibrant colors, a feeling like, yes, Ryan, it was very much worth the risk.

“It’s Christmas Eve, can we please be romantic now?” Ryan says after a while.

_Romantic, huh?_

“This doesn’t mean you stop talking to me altogether,” Ryan mutters, tightening his fingers around Shane’s. He laughs and his eyes turn into slivers of moon, holding light brighter than the sun and Ryan’s just glad they’re okay. He’s just really glad they’re okay.

“Yeah, lover boy. I’ll cook you some dinner tonight. We’ll turn on the fire and some jazz, we’ll kill the wine, and I’m gonna—”

Ryan raises his eyebrows way up high when Shane abruptly stops talking. “What?” he asks, but he can see what Shane’s thinking about—

It makes Ryan’s whole body warm with liquid heat, heartbeat like a hummingbird, watching the Shane in Shane’s mind undress Ryan from the t-shirt he was wearing earlier, dropping gentle kisses to his shoulder, his neck.

“ _Oh_ ,” Ryan breathes. “That’s—that’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Shane grins, looking back at him. “I can’t wait until we get to work. I’m gonna watch clips of the Lakers taking a _fat_ L and replay it over and over again in my mind.”

“Fuck you, man,” Ryan says, grinning, laughing into Shane’s shoulder. “Actually, isn’t that torture for you too, Mr. I Don’t Care For Sports?”

“Ah shit. It wasn’t a foolproof plan.”

“Not at all, you fool.”

 _Come here_ , Shane thinks, and it almost startles Ryan, looking at Shane, mouth unmoving but words so loud in his mind. Ryan kisses him, slow and hot and deep, pulling back before they lose the objective.

“Romance me, hmm?” Ryan requests.

“Yeah, alright.”

✩

They spend hours in the bathtub just talking. And Ryan lets Shane talk about whatever he wants to. He finds Shane starts with an anecdote, something silly that’s curated and told to make Ryan laugh, and it sparks a thought about something else, something that feels like a secret. Something Shane chooses to share with Ryan. Ryan takes every single word, the accompanying thoughts and tucks them away for safe keeping, running his fingers through Shane’s hair to make sure he still feels safe enough to keep talking.

When the water goes cold, they refill it, and it happens _twice_.

“Could never waste water like this in California,” Ryan says, shutting off the knob with his toes. Shane laughs, grabbing for Ryan’s glass of wine, and finishing it.

“No, you really couldn’t,” Shane laments. “Which is _why_ having a hot tub _makes sense_.”

“Where are you gonna put a hot tub, Shane? Your closet?”

“I’ll buy a house and get a hot tub.”

“Okay, Mr. Millionaire. I didn’t know you were making the big bucks.”

“Well, no,” Shane says. “But I’m sure I could find a nice old lady who thinks I’m handsome and wants me to have a nice house in the ‘burbs.”

“You want—” Ryan bursts out laughing. “You want to be a sugar baby? You’re too old to be a sugar baby.”

“I don’t— _stop laughing_ — I don’t want to be a— _Ryan!_ ”

Ryan stifles his laughter in Shane’s shoulder, and Shane shakes his head.

“Take me seriously,” he pleads.

“Absolutely not,” Ryan says. “You sound like an idiot.”

“I’m just—a house. With a hot tub. Dreams and aspirations.”

“With old, rich ladies.”

“With you, too,” Shane says quietly, with that same sweetness he’d had days ago, telling Ryan he’d give him the world.

“Didn’t feel like it. All you did was run, Shane.”

“I—I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You could have done anything else. _Anything_ else. I don’t want you to ever think you have to hide from me. Granted, this is—not the most ideal situation between people—”

“My toes are pruned,” Shane interrupts. Ryan frowns.

“ _Shane._ ”

“You’re holding a mirror to my face, Ry. I know what I did.”

“Well, it fuckin’ sucked. And since you can’t read my mind, I have to tell you about it so you know, so you’re aware that this behavior is unacceptable. How could you possibly think you’d make it with a rich old lady with no tolerance for your bullshit?”

Shane huffs a laugh, looking up at Ryan through his eyelashes.

_The patience you possess is truly legendary._

“Only when it’s worth it.”

By the end of their bath, Ryan realizes that Shane’s first person tales have never been like this, childhood fears that spilled into and stained his adulthood. His aversion for romantic relationships, the reason he’s so into being the _weird man_. He distances himself, because it’s easier. Shane’s softer than he lets on in the middle, delicate and fragile, and touched by the wrong hands, he could shatter.

And Ryan knew that already, to a degree. He’d already known Shane was special.

✩

Shane thinks so freely without feeling like he needs to hide. Maybe Shane needed the reassurance that Ryan liked him, felt so strongly towards him that there wasn’t room for thinking he wouldn’t be so wholly and completely accepted. Ryan finds himself wishing that Shane could see his side too, that there was an open line of communication between their heads. A conduit connecting their brains, so they shared the same wavelength. Sometimes it felt like that, like they were trapped in some hivemind they didn’t want to break out of.

They go outside and enjoy the sunlight.

It’s freezing cold and Ryan has to bundle up, wearing one of Shane’s sweatshirts and one of his scarves, enjoying the glance Shane gives him as they get dressed. He steps in Ryan’s space and settles the fabric of the scarf neatly, tucking it into the lapels of Ryan’s jacket, making sure he’s warm. It’s something like a power move, Ryan thinks, when Shane doesn’t make eye contact with him, and all that plays in Shane’s mind over and over again is the sight of Shane unwrapping it, touching his fingers so gently to Ryan’s throat as he feels Ryan swallow.

It's like he doesn’t mind being caught anymore, and Ryan gets swept up in it, seeing himself through the lens Shane sees him through. It’s enough to make his blood simmer and his fingers tingle with the want to pull Shane in and strap him to the bed.

Instead, Shane dips just low enough to press his mouth to the center of Ryan’s forehead.

Ryan closes his eyes, and still, while they leave the cottage to walk in the snow, he’s wondering why that was the sexiest thing he’s experienced yet.

✩

The town, for the most part, is still somewhat open. It twinkles with Christmas cheer, lights on in the windows and the snow sparkling like someone overturned a large container of glitter onto the grass and called it a day.

They hold hands as they walk along the sidewalk, tugging each other when something exciting needs to be looked at. They walk into a bakery and grab cookies and hot chocolate to go.

In the middle of the deserted street, they have a snowball fight, hiding behind parallel-parked cars, laughing so loudly. Ryan’s aim is a lot better than Shane’s; almost immediately, Shane’s got snow spots dusting the dark navy of his jacket. Shane manages to make a shot or two, but Ryan’s good at dodging. 

Off to Ryan’s side, a little, giggling girl grabs a fist full of snow, and lobs it straight at Ryan’s chest, sending Shane into tears, laughing so hard he slips and falls right onto his ass. Ryan’s stunned still, a shocked laugh escaping him before he knows it. 

“Nice shot!” Shane calls from the middle of the street, and the little girl laughs, doing a little dance. She reaches to pick up another ball of snow, but a woman snatches her hand. 

“Come on, Junie,” a young woman says, tugging the little girl along, and Junie looks up at Ryan with a prideful grin. “We’re not supposed to throw snowballs at strangers, remember?” 

“We were just playing!” the little girl, Junie, says indignantly. 

“Oh, it’s alright. We were already in the middle of an epic battle,” Ryan says. “She’s got a great arm.” 

“It’s gotten us into trouble before,” the woman says. “Hope you two have a merry Christmas!” 

“You, too! Merry Christmas, Junie!” Ryan calls as Junie and the woman leave. 

Ryan ambles towards Shane who’s still laying in the middle of the street, still so filled with mirth. He kneels beside him. “I think you’ve had your fun, huh?” Ryan says.

Shane looks up at him, with light in his eyes and the biggest smile Ryan’s ever seen; his thoughts are warm. “Yeah. Wanna go home?”

Ryan nods, helping Shane up from the ground, and they take their time dusting Shane off from the snow.

As they walk home, Ryan can hear Shane thinking about what they’d be like when they get home, doubting the strength they’re building between them now.

“Hey,” Ryan says, turning to Shane.

“Hello,” Shane answers him, quirking a smile, looking like he’s been caught.

“Let me give you a piggyback.”

“What? No, I’m too big. And heavy.”

“Nah. I can bench way more than you.”

“ _Way_ more?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Ryan presses. He lifts his arms and flexes, before realizing that Shane can’t see much through his layers and layers of clothing. Shane laughs.

“Alright, little guy. But if you drop me…”

“I’m not going to drop you,” Ryan protests, mildly insulted. He crouches down and Shane gets the idea, climbing onto Ryan’s back, legs around Ryan’s waist. Upright, Ryan secures his hands underneath Shane’s thighs and Shane keeps his arms wrapped around Ryan’s chest. He kisses Ryan’s cheek.

“Oh, well, look at you, Mr. Strong Man,” Shane murmurs.

Ryan grins. He carries Shane the short trip back to the cottage, and Shane’s thoughts are sweeter now that they’re pressed close. He wonders if that’s how it’ll be; whenever Shane gets resistant, Ryan figures out ways to coax him back into vulnerability, learning that Shane’s love language is gentle touches.

When they get home, they make the gingerbread houses. They set up on the countertop, spreading out the walls and decorations. And when they’ve made more of a mess than a house, they wash their hands and set up in the living room. They turn on _Elf_ , and completely miss the second half, falling too far into conversation, laughing and teasing and bantering. Ryan falls asleep on Shane’s chest, drifting away to the soft sound of Shane quoting the end of the movie in his thoughts, rubbing a gentle hand up and down Ryan’s back.

✩

By the end of the night, they’re nowhere near mastering this new thing, but it’s easier, since Shane knows Ryan’s gonna like him no matter what, and Ryan knows Shane sees him with intricate, careful eyes, and there isn’t anything Shane could do that would tear apart the reverent and illustrious way Ryan feels about him.

Ryan’s never felt anything like it, and he sure as fuck has never seen anything that looks like it.

Shane sits on the opposite side of the couch, empty wine glass on the edge of the coffee table. He looks at Ryan, and Ryan watches himself be regarded, looks into Shane’s mind and sees the way Shane wants him, feels the way Shane wants to touch him, kiss him, press into his body. Ryan closes his eyes and _enjoys_ it, this peculiar foreplay that has his blood rushing, heart pumping, stomach fluttering.

 _Come here_ , Shane beckons with his mind, and Ryan opens his eyes, crawls over the length of space between them, perching on top of Shane’s lap, knees on either side of Shane’s hips.

 _You have no idea what I want to do to you_ , he says. And Ryan shivers, because maybe he’s been privy to Shane’s thoughts for the last few days, but that certainly doesn’t discount the last few years, which Ryan can feel now, urgent and needy, even though Shane’s got Ryan sitting so close.

“Oh, yeah?” Ryan leans in, brushing their noses together, mouths a breath away, and Shane nods. He sees flickers of it, different colored sweatshirts, different places; movie theaters and the front seats of every car they’ve sat in with each other. Libraries and filming sets, apartments, elevators—it’s all right there, every time Shane can remember wanting to reach out and touch him. It makes Ryan’s breath come short.

How could he have thought Shane didn’t want him this much?

“I want you,” Ryan says, looking Shane in the eyes, crystal clear somehow, even though he’s too close to see anything properly. He can see Shane picture it; filthy, naked, sweaty—

“Yeah?”

Arousal pierces through Ryan’s gut, encouraging the slow shift of his hips. “Yeah, just like you said. Hard, slow, make me feel it, Shane, I want to—“

Shane kisses him then and wraps his arms around Ryan’s waist and lifts him, carrying him to the bedroom.

Ryan laughs, kissing all over Shane’s face; outwardly he protests, but his mind fills with those colors again. He drops Ryan onto the bed and Ryan lands with a gentle _oof_ , leaning up on his forearms. Shane keeps at the end of the bed, hands on his hips looking at Ryan.

“You’re incredible, did you know that?” Shane asks, like he’s mesmerized.

“I’m not really doing anything,” Ryan answers, but he can see himself through Shane’s eyes, that gleaming, glow-y filter again, like a film trying to depict a character in love. Ryan sits up, moving to the edge of the bed so his knees are on the outside of Shane’s and he’s eye level with his belly. He looks up the length of Shane’s body, catches the darkened amber of his eyes.

Slowly, Ryan pushes Shane’s sweater up his stomach. He leans forward to press a kiss to his flesh over and over again until he reaches the waistband of his pants, using his fingers to pull the button apart and lower the zipper. Shane pulls his sweater over his head and drops it to the ground; it lands with a muted thump.

Ryan pushes his underwear and pants down the length of his thighs, revealing the hard length of Shane’s cock, long and thick and smeared wet at the tip. He closes his mouth over Shane, revels in the shiver that trembles through his body, the soft sigh he elicits as he takes Shane in further. Ryan closes his eyes, enjoying the heavy weight of Shane on his tongue, the pressure of him at the back of his throat. He’s slow moving, but he moans when he feels Shane’s fingers through his hair, the gentle pressure of his hand on the back of Ryan’s head. Ryan grips his fingers in the backs of Shane’s thighs.

 _Whoa, hey, slow down_ , he hears Shane think. _I want to be enough for you_.

“You are enough for me,” Ryan says, pulling off of Shane’s cock and looking up at him. Shane swipes his thumb over Ryan’s bottom lip, and when he presses in, Ryan closes his lips around it, flicks his tongue against it.

“Lay back for me, hmm?” Shane nods towards the bed, and Ryan lets Shane go, doing as he’s asked, peeling himself out of his own clothes and tossing them over the edge of the bed. Shane steps out of his pants and leaves the bedroom for a few moments. When he comes back, he’s holding lube and condoms, dimming the light with his other hand after he shuts the door. _Candles would be overkill probably._

Ryan laughs, shaking his head. “Light candles if you want, babe.”

Shane thinks about it for a second, comes up with the image of fire licking over Ryan’s flesh and leaves the room again. Ryan laughs in the quiet of the bedroom, finding his phone in the pocket of his jeans. He turns on some music, something slick and heavy with beat, where the singers croon about love and sex. 

Spreading out over the mattress, Ryan touches himself as he waits, hands drifting down his chest, his stomach, grasping a fist around his cock. He pulls back the foreskin, slowly stroking. Shane busies himself lighting the three unlit candles on the dresser when he returns. Paired with the dim lights and soft music, the whole room feels warm, and Ryan’s even warmer when Shane finally gets in bed with him.

“Don’t use the condom,” Ryan says, parting his legs for Shane. “If that’s okay.” 

“Hmm?” Shane drags his mouth up Ryan’s chest, kissing over Ryan’s clavicles, his shoulder.

“I want to feel you,” Ryan explains, feeling his face explode with heat, feeling silly for thinking that after everything, after today, and last night, and every day before that, that Shane would judge him for wanting it like this.

“Yeah, okay,” Shane mumbles. “It’ll be your mess to deal with.”

“Such a gentleman,” Ryan huffs, pressing his hands to Shane’s chest and tweaking his nipples.

“Ow, you fucker,” Shane laughs, biting at his shoulder. Ryan hums, pleased by Shane’s outcry. “Turn over for me, will you?”

“No, I want to see you,” Ryan pouts. 

“It’ll be easier if you’re on your stomach. It’s going to be a lot for your first time.”

Ryan shrugs. “I can take it.”

“Come on, let me make it good for you,” Shane murmurs, kissing along Ryan’s jawline, coaxing and sweet, knowing Ryan too well for his own good. _Just want to make you feel good_.

It’s hard to argue with that when Shane pulls back to look at him, softened, earnest eyes. 

“Al _right_ ,” Ryan concedes, and he shuffles onto his stomach underneath Shane’s body. He makes himself comfortable against the pillows, hands up by his shoulders.

Before Shane does anything, he sets his hands on Ryan’s back, rubbing slowly, a heavy pressure that makes Ryan moan softly. He closes his eyes and falls into the feeling of Shane touching him, soaking up the sensation of Shane’s gentle hands on either side of his spine.

Shane sits back on Ryan’s thighs, touching his hands to Ryan’s ass. He shudders, fingers grasping the edges of the pillows as Shane pulls apart his cheeks, pressing a thumb against his rim. Ryan tries to push into it, but his range of motion is limited considering Shane’s sitting on him. Shane doesn’t tease him. He’s careful, taking his hands away; Ryan hears the click of the lube opening. Shane’s thoughts don’t offer anything he doesn’t know other than Shane’s a little bit nervous. It makes Ryan smile, knowing that they’ve been in and around this place before, have given each other orgasms, and somehow this feels different for Shane. It’s admirable, sweet, how careful Shane wants to be.

Shane drips the lube along the crevice of his ass, teases him then with the slow rubbing of his fingers; it’s not much, considering what he really wants is Shane’s cock which lays hot against his ass cheek at the moment, but he’s moaning anyway, huffing his breath in anticipation. Shane leans forward and drops soft kisses over his back, his cheek, and a finger sinks inside. Ryan screws his eyes shut, and even still, the expression on his face is reflected back at him, cast in the glow of the bedroom light, furrowed brow and parted lips.

“Don’t—stop looking at me,” Ryan huffs.

“What do you want me to look at?” Shane retorts.

“I don’t know—” he’s cut off by the slick pressure of Shane’s finger sinking in and pulling back.

“I like looking at you,” Shane says. _Especially like this, especially because I’m touching you. You’re so responsive; it’s stunning._

“I—” Ryan feels the gentle thrill of being praised climbing up his back, flourishing hot along his shoulders, underneath him where his chest is pressed into the bedsheets.

“I want you to see the way I look at you,” Shane murmurs. _So there isn’t a chance you could ever second guess how I feel about you_.

“Shane—holy shit, please,” Ryan gasps as Shane sinks a second finger inside of him, warm and wet, slow moving to the point where the agony starts to set in, making him want so much more.

 _Feel good?_ Shane asks.

“Yes, _yes_ ,” Ryan hums, shifting his hips as much as he can to get some friction for himself, eyelids fluttering, breathing hard into the pillow when Shane does something with his fingers that spark shocks in his bloodstream. “Oh, my _god_.”

“Jesus Christ look at you,” Shane murmurs, lips smeared across his cheek, his jaw, his neck, nipping at the flesh of his shoulder. “You’re so beautiful, Ryan.”

“Stop, seriously—” Ryan breathes, but he can’t hide his smile, the way his body responds to the honesty in Shane’s compliments.

“No,” Shane decides, and when Ryan opens his eyes and looks over his shoulder, he can see Shane smiling, smug and full of himself.

“Son of a bitch,” Ryan sighs. 

Shane laughs then, and gives Ryan a third finger, stretching him properly, a good kind of pressure sitting at the base of his spine; he arches his back, lifting himself onto his elbows, hanging his head. He’s out of words then, feeling Shane curling his fingers again, taking every conscious thought and replacing them colors. Deep reds and rich golds, colors on the spectrum that Ryan’s never seen before, but colors he knows Shane has picked for him, just for him.

“Okay, _okay_ ,” Ryan hurries. “Please, I want you now.”

Shane withdraws his fingers, wiping them on the bed sheets.

“Let me turn over,” Ryan says. “I wasn’t kidding.”

“Of course you weren’t,” Shane says, climbing off of him. “I don’t know why I didn’t peg you for missionary with the lights off.”

“The lights are on, idiot,” Ryan says, rolling his eyes, and Shane grins, bites down on his lower lip and grabs Ryan by the waist playfully, pulling Ryan into his body, and he laughs, loud, feeling free, _invincible_ again. “Or maybe you should—I could be on top,” Ryan says, wrapping his arms around Shane’s neck, leaning up to kiss Shane quick and soft. “Would that be okay?”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

“ _Sweetheart_?” Ryan repeats, surprised. “I like that.”

“Do you?”

“Yup.” Ryan kisses him again, full on the mouth. “Come on, on your back, please.”

Shane flops off of him, lying long and naked against the bedsheets. Sexy in a way that reminds Ryan of old 70’s smut magazines; flushed skin, sparse hair on his chest but thick around his cock, mustache thicker than the growth of his beard. Ryan would have collected every issue.

Grabbing the lube, Ryan squirts more than enough on his palm, gripping Shane’s length and wetting him properly, his grasp teasing, too loose to give Shane anything but a taste. Shane pinches his thigh.

“Come on, you big tease,” Shane huffs, settling among the pillows, reaching for Ryan’s hips. Ryan lets himself be tugged closer, sitting astride Shane’s lap, leaning forward and brushing his nose against Shane’s.

“Call me sweetheart again,” Ryan requests quietly. 

“It has to be _earned._ ”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“By all means, be my guest, _sweetheart_.”

With his knees tucked into Shane’s side, Ryan lifts himself up, just enough to give him the space he needs as he reaches behind himself to take Shane in his hand. Shane shivers underneath him and Ryan takes his time, rubbing the tip of Shane’s cock against his rim, pressing but not pushing back enough to properly take him inside. Shane’s hands are sweet on his thighs, rubbing slowly, encouragingly.

Finally, he takes Shane inside; Ryan’s breath is _sharp_. He feels the entire length of him stretching him as he slowly lowers and God, it makes his breath catch in the back of his throat. It seems like it takes forever, like it’s endless, until Shane’s hips are flush with his ass and Ryan’s panting his breath, fingers digging into Shane’s shoulders. There’s heat in Shane’s thoughts, blooming and rushing and the echo of his heartbeat. 

“You okay?” Shane asks, looking up at him, a sweet flush in his cheeks. Ryan nods, flexing, clenching, testing. It’s good and weird and _right_ ; Ryan moves his hands, touching them to Shane’s face. He shivers, full bodied and robust, and his body shifts, slight enough so Ryan can feel the slick slide of him inside. He moans, thinking maybe, maybe just sitting like this could make him come. His cock twitches at the thought, dribbling a sticky mess against Shane’s belly.

Ryan closes his eyes and concentrates. He can hear Shane’s thoughts, a sharp, glittery thrum of glorious pleasure. He’s thinking of Ryan, sure, but there’s more to it, there’s everything, their entire history at the forefront of Shane’s mind. It’s beautiful, a supercut of who they’ve been while they’ve ever been together and even apart, it’s the way Shane’s always seen him, from the early days of them not even knowing, not even conceiving the idea that they could be anything like this.

“Shane, stop thinking so goddamn loud,” Ryan breathes. The emotions build up in his chest either way, and nothing’s even happened yet; Shane’s still underneath him, waiting, and Ryan’s growing accustomed to the feeling of Shane inside him, reaching places Ryan wasn’t sure Shane would ever reach. There are tears in his eyes and Ryan tries to blink them away, but he’s caught, seen and he can see himself reflected in Shane’s mind, in the hazy glow of the bedroom light as the tears drip down his cheeks.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Shane whispers. “Come here, let me—”

Gently, Shane takes him by the waist and rolls them over, lying heavy between Ryan’s thighs.

“Just—” Ryan rolls his hips—or tries to, anyway, but Shane gets the idea, drawing his hips back, pitching forward completely so he covers Ryan’s body right before he thrusts in. Ryan never set out to be quiet, but he bites back his noises, wrapping his arms around Shane’s shoulders.

It’s hushed between the two of them, harsh and heavy breathing as Shane moves inside of him, and then it breaks and—

Somehow, it feels like they’re outside their bodies; Ryan doesn’t know what’s happening but it’s different—something brings them closer and when Shane moves, it’s quick, looking down at Ryan with wide eyes, surprise etched into the features of his face.

“Ryan,” Shane says, his hips stopped, deep inside of Ryan.

“What?” 

“I can hear you.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Ryan gasps. “I’ve been trying. Level it out, you know?”

 _You’ve been trying?_ Shane wonders; it’s like Ryan can feel his words, like they’ve been etched into the underside of his lungs, knowing them before Shane can even speak them.

 _Yeah_. _I want you to know me, too_ , Ryan tells him. So Ryan thinks, like Shane has been thinking, about the things that make them _them_. About every moment he can recall that made Ryan’s heart skip and made his stomach flutter. That night when Ryan was brave enough to ask for what he wanted, how badly he’d wanted it for years before that moment, where the light caught Shane just right.

Shane groans, moving his body, his hips, hiding his face in Ryan’s neck where he breathes against Ryan’s throat. _Ryan_.

 _That’s how I see you_ , Ryan whispers in his mind, over the wire, this strange connection they’ve acquired.

 _Too generous, too kind_ , Shane answers him. Ryan moans when Shane grabs the outside of his thigh, like it’s _him_ that needs something to hold onto.

 _It’s just you, Shane. It’s always been you_.

Ryan’s mouth forgets how to form actual words, knowing that the second he thinks something, Shane’s going to hear it. He lets himself succumb to the bliss, the pleasure of heat, the way his flesh begs for Shane to make him feel it, feel everything, as much as he can. Legs wrapped around Shane’s hips, Shane’s hands find his, their fingers tangled together, and really, thinking about it, it feels so dramatic, which makes Shane laugh into his neck.

 _We’re holding hands,_ Ryan thinks. _We’re making—_

 _Ack, shut up_ , Shane says.

Ryan laughs, too, humming, sighing, tightening his fingers around Shane’s. _What if it’s always like this?_

Shane pulls back and looks down at him, slow, careful rolls of his hips that make Ryan shiver. _It was always going to be like this, Ryan_.

He lets go of Ryan’s hands, sitting back on his heels. Ryan feels exposed, but in a way, he wants to be with Shane, no barriers or walls, just his flesh and Shane’s, their thoughts hanging over them in the air.

When Shane sees him now, it’s with the quiet flicker of candlelight, the dim bedroom light, sweaty flesh, and a flush on his face, his chest, deep breaths.

And when Ryan sees the way Shane sees himself through Ryan’s eyes, that same ruddy flush, sweaty forehead and light glittering over his shoulders, Ryan commits the images to memory.

_Come on, Shane, give it to me._

Leveraging his weight with his right hand and his left gripping Ryan’s hip, he moves, thrusts, hard and deep, making Ryan loud in the otherwise quiet of the bedroom. Ryan’s knees come up high as his body arches, hips sitting just right for Shane to nail him properly, stars in his eyes, heat in his veins, eyes shut tight. Shane’s body comes close, covers him completely, heavy and solid, his mouth at the corner of Ryan’s in a pseudo kiss that really feels like Shane’s breathing him in.

 _You feel so good, Ryan_ , Shane thinks, a chant that remains at the forefront of his mind through the winding colors of gorgeous bliss, enough that when Ryan comes, with Shane’s cock deep inside of him, he doesn’t reach to wrap his hand around himself; every thought, feeling, notion, _idea_ , wraps around him tight, draws him as taut as a bow string. He touches his hands to Shane’s face, looks at him while his climax strikes him hard, burning amber all he can see as he spills between their bodies.

 _Shane, oh my god, Shane_ , his mind thrums, over and over again, lost for words, forgetting everything else but the sight of Shane above him, the feeling of him inside of him.

When Shane comes, just as Ryan is coming down, Ryan watches through heavy lidded eyes, the way Shane’s mouth opens and breathes Ryan’s name, a quiet whisper behind a groan, hips grinding against Ryan, hot and wet, warming him from the inside out.

Immediately, Shane falls forward, and Ryan wraps his arms around Shane’s shoulders, kissing over his face, and when Shane pulls back, Ryan sees his face is wet; he blinks rapidly, like he might be able to force them away, but there’s still the vulnerable drip of tears beneath his eyes.

“Oops,” Shane says, trying to lighten the weight of his emotions, but all Ryan can do is smile as he kisses them away, the taste salty and sweet.

“Wow,” Ryan breathes.

“Yeah,” Shane agrees, wiping his face with his forearm, settling onto his elbows. Ryan lets his legs fall around Shane’s hips, hooking his feet on the insides of Shane’s knees. “Jesus.”

Ryan smiles, running his fingers through Shane’s hair, caressing the side of his face.

 _Fuck, I love you_.

“Oh, yeah?” Ryan says, still breathless, smiling widely.

“You knew that, though.”

 _I did_.

Shane takes a deep breath. “That’s okay, right?”

Ryan laughs, rolling his eyes. “What makes you think it wouldn’t b—”

Shane’s mind spirals _quickly_ , back into those darkened spaces, those mean places where he thinks he’s not good enough for Ryan.

“Hey _, hey_ ,” Ryan says. “Of course it’s okay. Would you care to know _why_?”

“Why?” Shane says, looking at him like he’s enduring a lecture. Ryan flicks him on the forehead, and Shane scrunches up his face, pinning both of Ryan’s hands to the bed. “Ow, _Jesus_. You keep hurting me during sex—”

“Because I love you, too, you oversized dumbass.” Ryan wiggles his hands, but his wrists don’t give. “Merry Christmas, be with me forever.” 

Shane’s face softens, candlelight kissing the flushed high points of his cheeks. “I don’t know, forever is a really long time.”

“You would only be so lucky,” Ryan says.

“You’re right. I would. And I am. For someone with very little patience, you’re always patient with me.”

“I don’t have any patience because I _use it up on you_.”

Shane smiles and leans in, gives Ryan a kiss, a slow one, a good one, a kiss that brings the feeling back into his toes.

✩

In the morning, everything is quiet. _Really_ quiet.

He turns around in bed and finds Shane sitting next to him, sipping from a mug with his book in his lap.

“You still haven’t finished it?” Ryan croaks.

“To be fair, I’ve been spending all my time with you,” Shane says, combing his fingers through Ryan’s hair.

“I can’t hear you,” Ryan whispers sadly.

“Yeah, I noticed the same when I woke up.”

“Stupid. But I guess now you don’t have to hide your presents from me. And when you inevitably propose, after you inevitably fall in love with me— _oh, wait._ ”

Shane laughs, loud and big and bright, and Ryan wants to live in this moment, where he’s curled up into Shane’s side, still warm from sleep, listening to his happiness.

“At least you won’t have to worry about me figuring out the surprise.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t go expecting any surprises anytime soon.”

“I _know_ , I’m just saying, Jesus.” Ryan stretches out his limbs, feeling a little achy, but in a fantastic way that makes him feel that sweet taste of invincibility again. “Can you make me some breakfast?”

“Anything for you, princess,” Shane mutters, but he smiles.

Ryan beams and Shane kisses him before getting out of bed. And despite missing Shane being front and center inside his mind, he doesn’t mind the serenity, the peacefulness, the—

Quiet.

But then he figures Shane could do with a cute countertop decoration, so he gets out of bed and perches himself on the counter next to the stove, pulling Shane close to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.

✩

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! im [here!](https://uneventfulhouses.tumblr.com/)


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